


Things Left Unsaid

by OneofWebs



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alpha Lambert (The Witcher), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Family Dynamics, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Kaer Morhen, Letters, M/M, Male omegas have vaginas, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Aiden (The Witcher), Rough Kissing, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), Witchers aren't sterile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25165945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: He looked down at the parchment, then, and felt bile in his throat. He looked at the words again and again and again. They weren’t real. But he looked at Vesemir and knew that they were.“I have to go,” Lambert said.“With this blizzard starting? You’ll do no such thing. You’ll sooner die than get to where you’re going. You’d best wait until it’s over.”“Did you hear anything they said?! You must have, if you had the gall to write it all down for me. I have to go—!”“You will go when it’s not dangerous. If you leave now and die on the way, then what’s the point?” Vesemir argued.-Lambert rides for Ellander in the middle of a blizzard against orders, against better judgment, because he has to. They have something of his, and he won't believe it when he sees it. When he sees it, everything will change.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 122





	Things Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> DID I DO THIS RIGHT.....
> 
> I wrote this all in one sitting in the dead of night and nearly made myself cry. This is also a beautiful case in which I meant to write a short story and it got a bit out of hand. Sorry not sorry. Next time, I'll write something happy. Don't know when that'll be though. Tired.

Lambert struck the dummy with the blunt of his sword, and the snow fell off like battered armor. He struck it again. And again. And again. His rage blinded him—easier to feel rage than anything else. Anything else would have meant something he wasn’t ready to come to terms with, because this wasn’t something he could come to terms with. This was. It didn’t matter what it was. He struck the dummy again. The snow was falling faster now; Lambert could hardly see the dummy standing two feet in front of him, but he struck it again.

No one would spar with him in the middle of a blizzard. He didn’t blame them. Neither would someone spar with him when he was teetering on the edge of leaping from the highest tower from either complete devastation or an untold rage—he hadn’t decided what it was, yet. The rage was easier, but even the blizzard couldn’t stop the prickle of tears. _Gods,_ Lambert didn’t cry. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but _this_ was something altogether different.

He cried when his father beat him. Hell, he’d cried when he was brought to this cursed placed for the first time and forced into all of it. All of _this_ —the powers, the yellow eyes, the garbage. But he’d been a child. Children cried when they wet their pants. Lambert didn’t cry now. He wouldn’t, even if it started to ache. He couldn’t beat the ache out of himself, not if he only struck the dummy. Everything he knew now kept the sword on the dummy and not at his neck.

There was something he had to _do,_ but the weather had decided to turn against him. Start this blizzard. Lambert had come back to Kaer Morhen for winter, not because he had to, but because there was something familiar about doing it. It was a chance to see everyone again, though there were so few of them now. There were no children to help train, no lessons to keep up with. Perhaps that was for the best. It meant, even in winter, Lambert didn’t have to _stay_ here. But still—the blizzard.

Vesemir hadn’t just suggested that he not leave. He’d all but barked it.

***

The blizzard was just beginning to set in, and Lambert was eying it warily from the window of his room. He’d only arrived a few days prior and was already itching to get out and do something. If it hadn’t started to snow like the world was setting to end, he had planned to have quite the time convincing Eskel or Geralt to go and spar with him. Just like old times, he’d say. They’d fall for it, because they did, and Lambert was bored. It was easier to just do something than it was to argue for doing nothing, which he was sure they were all doing.

He might just settle for playing cards with himself, at this point. With the way the blizzard was starting to look, he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon, and that included just five steps out of his own door. Lambert just groaned and pushed himself up from his chair. He needed to close that door before the snow overtook him, too, but he didn’t get very far into that meager bit of an activity. When he approached his door to close it, Geralt was standing right there. He looked a bit out of breath, like he’d been trying to outrun the blizzard but hadn’t quite succeeded.

“Geralt,” Lambert said, frowning. “Bit late for a house call, isn’t it?”

“Vesemir wants to see you,” Geralt said. “You should go. It’s important.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow. This was the problem with living in a school made up of only alphas. It was so much harder to gauge what was going on, especially when that alpha was Geralt. Geralt could have been anything, and he’d still have that impossible air about him. He gave away nothing except the rush he’d been in to get to Lambert, but that didn’t answer any more questions than it raised. Still, if Geralt said it was important and said it looking like he’d just run cross-country, then it must have been important.

“Right,” Lambert finally said. “You should get to bed, old man. Looks like you can’t handle the snow.”

Geralt didn’t say anything as Lambert stepped around him, offering one friendly pat on the shoulder. Geralt didn’t often give into inane pestering, but the entire lack of response was concerning. He could at least stand to crack a grin or roll his eyes, anything other than that blank, almost terrified look in his face. Was that pity? Lambert didn’t know, and he didn’t ask. He just shoved past Geralt for his own fun trek through the beginning snows. He hoped to make his way straight to Vesemir before the snow picked up too fast.

Vesemir was waiting for Lambert, hunched over a desk with hand wrapped around his chin, covering his mouth. He was looking very pointedly a piece of parchment in his hand and didn’t even glance up as Lambert stepped up to him. Lambert folded his arms and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“You called?” Lambert said in lieu of a greeting.

“I would have sooner, but there was little time,” Vesemir said. There were no pleasantries. “I wrote down everything you need.” He slid the parchment across the desk for Lambert to take. “They contacted me in a rush,” Vesemir continued.

Lambert picked up the parchment. “Who contacted you?”

“They didn’t give a name, only that you needed to meet them in Ellander.” Vesemir didn’t say more. In fact, he looked sick. There wasn’t a time in recent history that Lambert could remember that look on Vesemir’s face, and it made his stomach churn.

He looked down at the parchment, then, and felt bile in his throat. He looked at the words again and again and again. They weren’t real. But he looked at Vesemir and knew that they were.

“I have to go,” Lambert said.

“With this blizzard starting? You’ll do no such thing. You’ll sooner die than get to where you’re going. You’d best wait until it’s over.”

“Did you hear anything they said?! You must have, if you had the gall to write it all down for me. I _have_ to go—!”

“You _will_ go when it’s not dangerous. If you leave now and die on the way, then what’s the _point?_ _”_ Vesemir argued. Lambert just gripped his hand into a fist, crumpling the parchment in his hand. Geralt knew. That’s why Geralt had that sad look on his face. He _knew_ what this parchment said, and he hadn’t even bothered to share. This was how Lambert had to find out, and it did nothing but start a fire of rage. Better rage than whatever else

“We’ll talk about everything when you get back.”

“Great,” Lambert snapped. “I can’t _wait_ for the lecture on being more careful about where I stick my dick—”

“This is precisely _why._ _”_ Vesemir interrupted, but he didn’t dare say more. He knew Lambert well enough to know the wrenched up look on his face wasn’t anger; it was simply that Lambert didn’t know any other way to respond.

It was nothing Lambert didn’t already know. He’d heard the speech over and over and over again. If they _could_ make Witchers sterile, they would. They’d even tried it before, but it’d never worked the way they wanted it to. The whole secondary gender got in the way of making it work, and they hadn’t figured out how to move past it. So long as Lambert was an alpha—and he would be, forever—he needed to be careful. They could sleep with whores because omegan whores were sterile by virtue of a defect or botched doctoring. No responsibilities came from that.

Lambert would never say that he’d fucked up, but _gods,_ he hadn’t known. If he had known; but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t rewrite time. He couldn’t turn back the clock. All he could do was _deal_ with it. The parchment felt like fire in his palm, but he couldn’t let it go.

***

Lambert struck the dummy once more with a horrific shout. Again, again—screaming each time he did it until he lost his footing in the snow and the wind finally did him in. He dropped his sword and fell back on his ass, slumping forward onto his bent knees and just gripping his fists together like that might stop the sudden shuddering in his shoulders. It wouldn’t. He was overwhelmed. Distraught. Devastated. Angry. He was plotting revenge as much as he was plotting how to get out of here.

The revenge could wait. It would have to wait until they were all out on the Path again. But leaving couldn’t. The parchment was now burning a hole in his shirt, and he had to go. It’d specified where in Ellander he would meet these unnamed people—some wayward farm out in the middle of nowhere. Because they had something of his. Something that Lambert couldn’t believe. He wouldn’t believe any of it until he saw it, and to see it, he had to leave.

For the moment, he couldn’t even muster the strength to get back up. He sat there in the snow, shivering and shuddering and certainly not sobbing until he heard footsteps approaching. He’d gone from anger to misery and straight back to anger. If they were here to tell him to suck it up and come back inside here the snow wouldn’t be the death of him, he would grab up his sword and strike at his own brothers. They didn’t _understand_ —

But Lambert’s thoughts stopped dead at the sudden thump beside him. He looked down, still heaving for his breath, and saw a satchel. It looked stuffed to the brim but sacrificing a larger bag might have given some notice.

“It’s got enough food to get you to the next town,” Geralt said.

He had to shout over the sound of the wind, but he’d at least squatted to make it easier to hear. Eskel had just been standing there, but he walked around behind them both to grab Lambert by the arm and pull him up to his feet. Geralt grabbed the satchel and hooked it over Lambert’s shoulder. There was no more talking until they were out of the snow, but they didn’t go back to a proper room. It was more of an alcove near the gate, the great exit that would see Lambert where he needed to go.

“There’s coin, too,” Eskel finally added. “If you use it up before you get where you’re going, you’re on your own.”

“You both _knew_ ,” Lambert sneered. But what else could he say?

“Go,” Geralt said. “We’ll be sure to save some of the lecturing for you but go.” Like he knew just where Lambert had tucked the parchment, Geralt patted him on the chest. Geralt knew _exactly_ how it felt. Maybe Ciri wasn’t his, but she was as damn close as he’d ever let happen. He was careful. Lambert wasn’t.

Or, rather, he’d been extremely careful. Choosy, really, and just hadn’t expected everything to fall so fast apart.

Lambert thanked them and he left. He barely stayed long enough for a proper thanks, because now that he had this moment, he had to leave. The only stop he made before rushing out of the gate was to get his horse. He rushed to the stable to find that she was already set up to go—reins, saddle, and bags all strapped on tight. He stepped up to her and offered just a single pat to the length of her face before he pulled himself up. Time to go. He kicked off.

“Let’s go, Luna,” he muttered.

He’d thought it would have been funny to name his horse Moonshine, but after enough complaints, a vaguely similar name was chosen for him. He liked it well enough, and though this was his second horse, the name was the same. Luna. She stepped out through the stable and into the cold air, the raging snow, but they left. She wouldn’t let anything stop her, strong horse that she was.

Eskel and Geralt were nowhere to be found as Lambert left, but that was for the best. They needed enough deniability to say they had no part in Lambert’s leaving, but they must have still been close enough to deal with the opening and closing bit that Lambert hadn’t been a part of. He heard the gates close behind him, and that was it. He was leaving. He was gone.

They had to go slow through the snow. Lambert offered what encouragement he could through idle strokes to her coat, but this was mostly Luna’s burden. They stopped when she needed to, but mostly, they just went forward. Lambert knew well enough where he was going that he didn’t need a map, and he certainly didn’t need to stop to eat. He could do that perched in the saddle. They stopped only when Luna needed the break, so she was plenty rested by the time they hit the edge of the snow.

Then, it was a full out gallop. Find the road and maybe even ignore the road. If Lambert could get there faster by taking short cuts, then he would take any shortcut he could find provided it wouldn’t kill him. He hadn’t exactly taken the time to properly arm and armor himself before he left. Too much panic, too much need to leave for that. He had naught but a single sword strapped to his back, and that would be all he needed. The other one was still lying in the snow at Kaer Morhen.

Lambert didn’t stop for a proper night’s rest until Daevon. He had a hot meal, a warm pint of ale, and a mildly lukewarm place to sleep for the night. He’d been on the road for two days, already, and figured he deserved a real bed to sleep in. Come morning, he had stale bread for breakfast and was right back on the road, back to the same routine. He stopped when Luna needed to stop, water or food or a rest, and then they pressed on.

They crossed the river, then followed it down where they crossed it at a fork to find themselves in Hagge. Lambert only went so far to know where he was but stayed outside of the limits. He didn’t need the extra attention. It was the same story. Always the same story. For a solid week, or so. A bit longer. Stopping when Luna needed to stop. Eating when he got hungry. Only stopping at a town if it was absolutely necessary. Eventually, Lambert found himself in Ellander.

That was the first time in nearly twelve days that Lambert looked at that parchment paper. It had enough instruction on it, written in Vesemir’s painfully neat writing, for Lambert to find where he needed to go, now that he was here. The instructions took him right to what looked to be a little homestead right outside of the city Ellander. The city would have been no more than a day’s ride, but it was far enough away that these people had space. Too much space.

Lambert stalled Luna near a tree and left her there. At the very least, if this were a trap, she could find her way back home and Lambert’s fate would be known. He didn’t think it was, though. The parchment paper told him that, along with the other horrible things it listed. Despite the calm of a silent ride, Lambert hadn’t had much time to breathe since he’d left Kaer Morhen, let alone try to forget what horrors he was about to face. But he was going to have to face them. There was no escaping that.

His arrival was none too subtle, either. As he approached the little homestead, a man stepped out to meet him. An alpha: Lambert could smell it on him, but there were no hostilities. There weren’t formalities, either. Lambert and the alpha met out in front of the house, and they didn’t even shake hands.

“Haedrin,” the alpha greeted. “Are you Lambert?”

Lambert nodded and said nothing.

“You might want to brace yourself for this,” Haedrin said, gesturing off towards the barn. “We found him off the road somewhere, and— Well, I’ll tell you that later. Thought you might want to see him before we get into the rest.”

Lambert nodded, swallowing down the anxiousness. He didn’t get anxious, but on the other side of that door was something that would change his life forever. Not in the way he once hoped. It would confirm everything he wished wasn’t real.

Haedrin took point and led Lambert through the tall grasses over to the barn door, then opened it. Inside, it was dark; the only light came from the open door, and it cast a long shadow all the way to the back where the next light hung. It was a dying lantern because, as Haedrin explained, they hadn’t felt right leaving a light off. Not until something could be done. Haedrin then led Lambert through the barn, but he stopped at the middle.

“Give you a moment,” he said. There was an unspoken promise to share everything after the moment was over, but Lambert needed the moment more than he needed the details. The details would start tomorrow. Lambert needed to mourn today.

Lambert stood there in the middle of the barn for as long as it took him to gather himself; a full minute passed, after Haedrin left, before Lambert crossed the rest of the way. His boots crunched through the straw, but somehow, his world was silent. He saw the body, but he didn’t _believe_ it until he stepped up right alongside it. Lying on a hay bale, Lambert saw it. Saw him.

***

Aiden was his name, and Lambert knew that he was special from the moment he met him. First, Aiden was the only redhead that Lambert had _ever_ seen who wasn’t pale as a vampire. Aiden had tanned skin. It was no doubt that his lifestyle stuck him out in the sun more than not, and the only way to deal with that was to just deal with it. That, or Aiden was just lucky enough to tan instead of burn; it wasn’t exactly a first meeting sort of question. Second, Aiden was an omega. Lambert could smell it on him before they’d even approached one another.

“Didn’t know they trained omegas to be Witchers,” Lambert said, and what an introduction it was.

“Maybe not at your stuck-up school,” Aiden replied. “Name’s Aiden. Who are you?”

“Lambert.” They shook hands.

The Ogre of Ellander was dead, however unfortunate that ending was. After they’d split the reward, an easy compromise for the work they’d both put in, Lambert thought that was it. He’d had the astute pleasure of meeting this very strange and very handsome Witcher, but that was the end. Witchers didn’t travel in pairs, and they certainly didn’t form unnecessary connections. Or bonds, as Aiden wore a hard leather band around his neck to ward those off.

It made sense, and it was also not a first meeting sort of question. Such a question might take Lambert from a potential friend and ally to a threat, and Lambert wanted to be anything other than a threat. He merely took note of the collar because Aiden made no attempts to hide it.

“Would you stop at the tavern with me?” Aiden asked, looking at Lambert from the corner of his eye. It looked far coyer than he must have meant it, certainly. “I’ll even buy the drinks, since you were so helpful out there. I daresay I might not be standing here without you.”

Lambert scoffed. “Drop the flattery. We both know you were the hero. Let me buy the drinks.” They were in agreement of going, so they both started off while the conversation continued.

“I insist,” Aiden said. “It’s not often that I need help, you know, and I want to make sure you know how much I appreciate it. Try to hold my own out here.”

“Think you do a pretty good job of it, that.”

Aiden grinned. “Need your approval, do I?”

Lambert smirked back. “Are all you omega Witchers so damn prickly, or is this just a special treatment?”

“Definitely special treatment,” Aiden confirmed. As they reached the tavern, Aiden was the one who held the door open. He wrapped his fingers around it once it was, leaning against it with his cheek pressed into a corner. “I do hope you feel special.”

Lambert blinked, but the shock wore too clear on his face. Aiden let out a chuckle—something Lambert was painfully trying not to find adorable—and gestured that Lambert enter the tavern. Lambert did just that, and Aiden followed in close behind.

Witchers could get drunk. They could get very drunk and cause a whole lot of problems. However, it tended to require a great _deal_ of alcohol, which is why they had their own. This was just normal ale from a tavern, so Lambert knew that Aiden wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t going to be the one to point that out, though. If Aiden, three pints down, wanted to act like a fool, then Lambert was more than happy to sit there and listen to him. Aiden was no weepy drunk or clingy drunk, no. He wasn’t quite an angry drunk, but he sure knew how to complain.

“Let me put it this way,” Aiden slurred, already waving for a fourth pint, “they _train_ omegas to be Witchers, but fuck the gods, they still act like we don’t know our damn cunts from a sword. Fucking ridiculous. Doesn’t matter how good you are at what you do—and I assure you, I am the _best_ —they still can’t be fucking bothered with it. Bunch of bastard whores, they all are. Least I can think about something but my fucking reproductive organs for a minute.”

Lambert scoffed a bit of a laugh, sipping at his ale. “Something we can agree on, there.”

Aiden wailed with a laughter. “Oh, yeah? You, some big strong alpha really knowing how to think with the head? Can’t believe it. Won’t believe it!”

Lambert grinned. “Guess we’ll just have to keep meeting like this until you do.”

“Oh, oh.” Aiden snickered. “Now I’m being propositioned. I do warn you, my good Witcher, there is one thing you must know about me.”

“What’s that?”

“I used to have the most _stunning_ blue eyes,” Aiden said. Lambert’s face scrunched up in a grinning sort of confusion. What did that have to do with anything? “Damn Witchering took them from me. How unfair is that?”

“You’re making that up,” Lambert said. “You’re what, four or five when that all starts? How the fuck you remember what color your eyes were.”

Aiden laughed. “I do not share my secrets. Not unless you ask very nicely, and I do expect a _please_.”

“I’ll be sure to get down onto my knees, then.” Lambert took a long swig of his ale.

“Oh, I bet you would.”

Lambert nearly choked on his drink, and Aiden just laughed. He looked like a dream when he laughed.

It wasn’t the last time they met, either. They met on contracts, at taverns for drinks. Sometimes, they even met entirely on purpose. As time went on, they met _increasingly_ , entirely on purpose, because how could they not? Neither one of them were ashamed of it, nor were they particularly ashamed or abashed. From the moment they’d met, it’d been all jabs and flirting. It’d started a bit heavy on the jabs, the japes. It didn’t take long for the scales to tip, and there was one particular moment that had tumbled it all over.

They’d barely managed to pull themselves up to their feet, holding themselves up on this rock out in the middle of the field. An old battlefield from some town squabble that had been overrun with rotfiends had almost been their grave, too, but they’d survived. There had been a whole swarm of them; while Aiden took to the shadows, Lambert had attacked them head on. It was the perfect pincer attack, so long as they could avoid the poisonous cloud at the end. They did. Barely.

Now, they were both panting, leaning against this rock like it was the only thing even keeping them in the moment. It was Aiden who broke the silence, a sudden bout of laughter like a man finally gone mad. He was holding his hand over a wound on his side, one that would be easily patched back up. It would scar, but it would heal. Even now, it had hardly bled through his clothes.

“Almost died,” Aiden gasped. “ _Fuck_ , we almost died.” He was laughing.

“That’s just the job, isn’t it? Death around every corner.”

“Yeah—can it wait?” Aiden heaved for his breath. “I’d like to get a proper heat-fuck before I die.”

Lambert stopped at that, staring down at Aiden. “Wait. You’ve never?”

Aiden snorted. “Why the fuck would I? Sure, I hear lots of nice things, but there’s that pesky little thing called _pregnancy_ at the end of it that I’d really rather not deal with. Easier to stave off.” Aiden looked at Lambert, then. “Besides. Don’t think there’s a human alive who could handle me.”

Lambert nearly choked on his tongue. He didn’t know which one of them moved first, but all of the sudden, his arms were just full of _Aiden_ , and they were kissing. Aiden’s arms were around his neck, his hands were on Aiden’s jaw. They kissed and they kissed; it smelled of rot and blood, but they kissed. Their teeth knocked together as they dove at each other, deeper and harder with every tilt of the head. Then, there was tongue. So much tongue and dripping spit as they collided.

They both forgot to breathe, and when they pulled away, it was with mutual gasping breaths. Only a moment later were they on top of each other again. Breath through the nose. Aiden pulled Lambert closer until they were tripping over each other; Aiden fell back against the rock, and Lambert was over top of him. Lambert had only barely managed to catch himself on the rock, leaning forward on his forearms, and they _kissed_. There was only one moment of separation where Lambert wedged a hand between them, and that was when Aiden took a sudden hard grip on the hair right at the back of his neck.

“No—no, you are _not_ fucking me on a godforsaken battlefield, I won’t stand for it. Your hands are disgusting, and I don’t want them anywhere near my—” Aiden cut off in a gasping surprise as Lambert kissed him quiet.

“I won’t,” Lambert promised, then kissed again.

But _oh_ , he didn’t need to. Aiden figured that out in the next second as Lambert’s hand pressed up against his groin. Lambert palmed at his straining cocklet, fingers rubbing along the seam of his breeches. Aiden practically trembled, pulling Lambert closer and rolling his hips into that touch. Lambert practically had his fingers inside of Aiden, the hard way that he pressed, but Aiden’s breeches kept his order intact.

“Fuck,” Aiden groaned, leaning back into the rock. “You’re _desperate,_ aren’t you?”

“For you?” Lambert huffed. “Definitely.”

“Get down on your knees, then. Prove you can handle it, and maybe, I’ll just let you have it.”

Lambert couldn’t comply fast enough. He dropped down to his knees, right there in the grass, and just mouthed over the bulge in Aiden’s breeches. He continued to rub his fingers along the seam of the crotch. Aiden smelled of slick almost as badly as he leaked with it, making a mess of himself in his pants. But he didn’t care. He leaned back against the rock and moaned as Lambert continued to work him. He could feel the heat of Lambert’s tongue, his breath, right through his clothes.

“Fuck— _fuck._ _”_ Aiden couldn’t bring himself to bite down on his tongue. He dragged his fingers over Lambert’s scalp and pulled him closer. “So good,” Aiden gasped. “So good—you are _such_ a good boy.”

Lambert pressed up against him, his fingers treacherously skilled. He tilted his head, pressing closer. He mouthed over the swell of Aiden’s cocklet. The whole thing would fit right in his mouth if not for that strict _no touching_ rule. This was somehow better. Lambert let his eyes close, and he just fell into it. He listened to Aiden’s cries, his praises, right up until the moment that Aiden fell apart. Aiden’s back arched, his jaw dropped open, and all he had a mind to say was _Lambert_.

Lambert pulled back, but he didn’t stand up. He sat on his haunches and looked up at Aiden, who was red in the face and looking quite dazed. Aiden slumped back against the rock, breathing into the back of his hand, and looked down at Lambert.

“What the fuck? What the _fuck_?” Aiden muttered. He’d just let that happen. He’d _encouraged_ it to happen. “So fucking good,” Aiden muttered. “Stand up—stand up.”

Lambert did just that, falling forward into Aiden’s arms when Aiden welcomed him. They kissed again, mouths slotting together and noses brushing.

“Such a good boy,” Aiden muttered between their kisses. “You earned it.” He dragged his fingers through Lambert’s hair, over his scalp.

“Tell me.”

“My heat,” Aiden continued, his voice more of a gasp now. Lambert slid from his lips to kiss along the line of his jaw, instead, and Aiden tilted his head to accept it. “I want you, Lambert,” Aiden gasped. “Everything. I want your knot. Fuck it—bite me, too.” Lambert nibbled right along the top line of Aiden’s leather collar. He’d worn it since they met. It was one strip of neck that Lambert had never seen.

“You’ll bite me,” Aiden reaffirmed, pulling Lambert back.

“Are you sure?” Lambert asked. “That’s—kinda big. I’m pretty sure we’re not allowed—”

“Who’s going to know?” Aiden frowned. “Are you going to go back to Kaer Morhen in the winter and boast about it?”

Lambert shook his head. He curled a hand along the side of Aiden’s head, right through his long, red hair. “You’re worth more than that.”

Aiden visibly shivered. He pulled Lambert in for another kiss, one that was significantly more chaste than the others. They just kissed for a moment, hands in each other’s hair, lips just pressing and pressing again. When they parted, they didn’t go far—their foreheads pressed together.

“I want you to be mine,” Aiden muttered. He closed his eyes and just breathed. Lambert smelled so good.

“I will be,” Lambert promised.

“Nobody but me.”

“Wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Aiden shuddered and just kissed Lambert again. He curled his arm up around Lambert to pull him closer, Lambert’s head in the crook of his elbow. Lambert’s hands were at his waist. Everything in that moment was so perfect that Aiden had no trouble ignoring how uncomfortable his breeches were or the stench of blood in the air. All he could smell was Lambert, and Lambert loved him.

The next time they met was only three weeks later, and they met in a secluded tavern. Aiden had paid for the room; Lambert just had to show up and lock the door. But it was more than that. More _intimate_ than that. Lambert walked through the door, locked it, and approached where Aiden was sitting curled up in a chair. His hair was down, and he was wearing nothing more than a loose shirt, laces undone, and his breeches. When Lambert approached him, Aiden stood up.

It was a silent understanding when Aiden simply turned around. His back was to Lambert, and that was all Lambert needed to know what it was. He reached up, threading his fingers through Aiden’s hair. He parted it down the middle, sending the locks forward to rest on Aiden’s shoulders. Already, Lambert could smell the beginnings of Aiden’s heat. The first heat he would share with an alpha—and he’d chosen Lambert. This was something like a ritual.

Aiden hadn’t removed his collar. That was for Lambert to do, the final proof of what this meant. Aiden took his collar off for no one. He took it off for Lambert. But more than that, he let Lambert be the one to remove it. Aiden shivered and jumped when Lambert’s fingers brushed against his skin, working through the tightly knotted laces of his collar. Lambert took it slow, tugging out one knot after another until the collar finally opened. Then, Lambert slid it forward, his hands on Aiden’s neck.

“Lambert—” Aiden gasped. The collar hit the floor. In the next second, Aiden had whirled around, wrapped up in Lambert’s arms and kissing him with full abandon.

They scrambled out of their clothes while Aiden pulled them back towards the bed. They were both naked by the time his knees hit the edge, and they tumbled back. They scooted back, up towards the pillows, and once Aiden was finally comfortable, their desperate need to kiss dissipated for a moment

“Not yet,” Aiden said. “Hasn’t started.”

“I can _smell_ that.” Lambert snorted.

“Useless, fucking alpha,” Aiden muttered, curling his fingers up through Lambert’s hair. “ _My_ alpha,” he breathed, he corrected. Lambert leaned down and kissed him again.

“Just tell me what you want. I’ll do it.”

“Such a good boy,” Aiden responded in just a breath. His back arched, pressing himself up to Lambert. Their chests flush, Lambert’s hardening cock right in the crook of his pelvis. Aiden shuddered, scratching at Lambert’s scalp. “I want you to fuck me,” Aiden said. “Fuck me, knot me, and bite me.” He flopped back into the pillow. “After that, I’m yours. Do whatever you want. Whatever _I_ want.” Aiden practically purred, caressing down the side of Lambert’s face.

Lambert promised to take care of him, and he did. He stayed with Aiden in that room for four days, fucking him in any way that he begged for, cried for. He marked him, bit the nape of his neck so hard it bled for hours. Aiden writhed on his knot over and over again. And neither of them had a moment to think.

When it was over, they had to go their separate ways. They did so with a kiss and a hard-won promise that this would not be the last time they met, because they were more than just acquaintances of convenient friends. They were mates. Partners. Even if fate kept them apart until Aiden’s next heat, there was still the promise of that heat. Lambert was the only one Aiden could go to for it, now.

Only, Lambert hadn’t seen Aiden again. Not for three years. Not until now.

***

Lambert’s breath caught in his throat. His knees wobbled, and a moment later, they couldn’t hold him up anymore. He dropped right down to his knees beside the hay bale, reaching _desperately_ for Aiden’s hand. It was cold. There was a fucking _arrow_ in his eye, and he was cold. Lambert squeezed into his hand, his own body trembling. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Aiden’s arm. What more could he do? What more was there to do?

Aiden was _dead_. There was an arrow in his eye, and he was dead. Lying there. Lifeless. He would never smile again. Lambert would never see him laugh, never hear the drunken slur of his words when he had too much to drink. He would never _hold_ him again. Never cradle Aiden into his chest and just have him. Never smell him. Did Lambert even remember what he smelled like? Or would he remember this, only, for the rest of his life? The stench of death. Aiden was dead.

“Aiden—” Lambert gasped his name, and it tasted like ash on his tongue. “Aiden—I’m _so_ —” But what could he say? That he was sorry? Instead, he choked on a sob and pushed himself up so he could put his arm around Aiden, rest his head on Aiden’s chest. There was no heartbeat. No warmth. Nothing. It wasn’t even Aiden, anymore. Just his body. Three years since Lambert had seen him, and all he gets after that promise is to see Aiden’s body. He could hardly bring himself to look.

Lambert didn’t even realize he was crying until he pushed himself up and Aiden’s shirt was wet. That was when Lambert finally looked at Aiden. Looked at his face. The last time he’d seen Aiden, he hadn’t had the freckles, but now they were spattered across his face. There was an arrow in his eye, but the other one was closed. His lips were slightly parted, gone cold and white. His hair was loose around his shoulders like it had been that night. Only this time, there wasn’t a collar.

Without thinking, Lambert reached for Aiden’s neck. He was so deathly cold, and Lambert was overwhelmed with the need to warm him. It made no sense. Aiden couldn’t be warmed or comforted—he was dead, but Lambert still reached for him. He curled his fingers around the back of Aiden’s neck, feeling right along Aiden’s nape. And there it was. A singular set of teeth embedded there forever. A bond mark, a scar. Something that had meant they were _everything_ , but Aiden had disappeared.

With a deep breath swallowed, Lambert finally stood up. He heard the barn door open again, and he turned to watch as Haedrin approached him. In his hands, he had a parchment paper. Lambert was getting tired of parchment paper, especially ones that came with that hopeless, tired look on the presenters’ face. Vesemir had the same look that Haedrin did now, as Haedrin handed over the parchment.

“We found him on the road,” Haedrin said. “It looked like he’d been ambushed. The mess is still out there; nobody’s cleared it off. Be happy to take you down if you want to see, but we figured it wouldn’t be right to leave him there. Not very fond of Witchers, some folks are, but men are men. Men deserve to be buried.”

Lambert nodded. Agreed. Thanked.

“He had this on him.” Haedrin swallowed. “It’s—the only thing that helped. You should read it. It’s old. He must have written it years ago.”

Lambert looked at the letter.

_My Dearest, Useless Lambert,_

_I_ _’m sorry. There’s nothing more that I can say except I’m sorry. I should have told you, but I didn’t know how to. I got the speech of be careful where I spread my legs. I’m sure you were told be careful where you stick your cock, and here we are. I didn’t know how you’d react, which was probably stupid, in hindsight, but I’ve already made my decision. I can’t fuck up both our lives, can I? Though, I suppose if you ever read this, I’ve fucked up your life. The only reason you get to read this is because something happened._

_She_ _’s yours. I never lied to you. You were the only alpha I ever shared a heat with. This wasn’t to hurt you, either. I didn’t use you. I loved you. I love you. Even after this letter, I will love you. Even if you find someone after me, I will love you. I didn’t have some weird need to be a proper omega. That’s what the other Cats teased me about, anyway. I hated it. You weren’t a means to an end. It was an accident. I fucked up; I can’t fuck your life up, too. But I guess I did._

_I hope to see you again one day. You can yell at me, scream at me, hate me. Whatever you need to do, just don_ _’t do it to her. She doesn’t deserve anything but love. If you won’t, then find someone who will. She needs it._

_Yours, Aiden_

_P.S. her name is Ardena_

Lambert looked up from the letter when the barn door creaked, again. He still didn’t believe any of it, but there was no denying it as Haedrin’s lovely little wife came into the barn. She was holding Ardena. The kid couldn’t _be_ anyone else but Ardena. She had Lambert’s nose, and he would spend the rest of his life apologizing for giving such a beautiful little girl such a hooked monstrosity on her face. But it suited her. Everything suited her, from her nose to the curve of her little lips to the stunning blue of her eyes.

Blue.

Aiden hadn’t been lying. He’d had the most beautiful, spectacular blue eyes, and there they were. Looking right at him.

Lambert folded the letter and stuffed it into his belt. He approached slowly, careful to be anything but a threat. He didn’t want to scare Ardena. His daughter. His beautiful, stunning daughter. She looked so much like him with her brown hair, that nose. But her eyes. Staring at him. Wide. Like she knew. Those were Aiden’s eyes, and Ardena knew Lambert in the same way he knew her.

“She was with him,” Haedrin’s wife squeaked. She was a short, plump omega with striking straw hair and brown eyes. “She—she was sitting right by his _body_.”

Lambert tried not to think about it. If anything, he was thankful that Ardena had been there like that. Just sitting next to Aiden’s body. It meant Ardena was alive. It meant she was here for this moment when Lambert approached her, and she would finally know her father. She reached for him, and Lambert met her in the middle and hoisted her right up. The way she fell against him had him choking on his next breath. Her little arms around his neck. Her face on his shoulder.

“Hey, little one,” he muttered, stroking her hair. “Daddy’s here now.”

Her arms tightened, and she just whimpered.

“Do you want the body?” Haedrin asked. “We’ll be happy to bury it for you, but otherwise, I’ve got an old sled you can take.”

Lambert nodded. “The sled,” he said. He turned to look at Aiden. “I want to take him home.”

Haedrin and his wife went off to set that up, and in the meantime, Lambert walked back to Aiden’s body. He held Ardena in one arm, and she kept her face buried against his neck, so she didn’t have to see. He leaned down and grabbed the arrow. A breath. He snapped it.

“I have so many stories to tell you about your mom,” Lambert said, leaning his head against Ardena’s. “You won’t ever forget him. I promise you, that.”

Ardena shifted, resting just her cheek against Lambert’s shoulder, then. Still, she didn’t speak. She just made herself comfortable.

Lambert stood by while Haedrin got the sled set up, and he stood by even longer while Aiden’s body was wrapped in old blankets and strapped down. Now that Lambert had his little girl, he wasn’t about to let her go. He couldn’t stand to touch Aiden again, either. Feeling how cold he was—Lambert wanted to forget that in Ardena’s warmth and the way she clung to him. Once Aiden was set up, Lambert thanked Haedrin and his wife. He thanked them twice and left them with a bit of coin.

They gave him a blanket for Ardena and an extra coat to keep her warm. They had several children, and all of them had outgrown the things small enough for Ardena. If Lambert had the space, they might have given him all of it. He only accepted what he could fit in his saddle bags, and then he was off.

The first time Ardena spoke was two hours later. She was mostly sat side-saddle, Lambert’s arm around her to keep her stable. The blanket was behind her, draped around her shoulders. She looked up at Lambert, clutching at his arm with her tiny little hands.

“Where’s Mommy?” She asked.

Lambert pulled her close, letting her head rest against his chest. “Mommy had to go away,” he said.

“Is he coming back?”

“No, baby, he’s not. He had a very important job to take care of.”

Ardena sniffed and curled closer. Lambert held her tight, terrified of the idea that she might fall.

“I miss Mommy.”

“I miss him, too.”

They didn’t talk for the rest of the trip. Not until they got closer to Kaer Morhen. The blizzard had stopped long ago, but it was still winter, and they were still in the mountains. When Ardena got cold, she complained, and Lambert reacted. When she got hot, it was the same. A back and forth as Lambert followed up the trail. Only after particularly hard terrain did he look back to make sure the sled was still attached. That he still had Aiden. They’d give him a proper burial; build him a funeral pyre and scatter his ashes. Lambert would keep some.

When he approached Kaer Morhen, no one was there for him. No one knew he would be there. He hopped down off of Luna and took Ardena with him. He walked the rest of the way and just pushed the gates open, himself. He didn’t get more than a few steps in before he was noticed, before everything hit him all at once. There were _eyes_ on him. Holding this child he wasn’t supposed to have. Lambert could only hold her tighter, and unknowing what else to do, she hugged him back.

“Welcome home, little one,” Lambert muttered.

Where else would she go? This was the closest thing to family she would ever have; it was the closest thing Lambert had, and right now, he needed it.

**Author's Note:**

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